Vilkas and Frea
by Liisi Laukkanen
Summary: A collection of one-shots about Vilkas and Frea, my OC. These one-shots are inspired by one word prompts that I fill out each day, and so aren't necessarily chronological. Vilkas/F!DB
1. Secure

Frea was in love with her homeland. The sprawling plains of Whiterun, the dazzling snow of Eastmarch, the tall intimidating mountains of the Reach...even the dark, gloomy forests of Falkreath. No matter where she roamed in the province, she always had the overwhelming sensation of belonging. Of security - and for an adventurer, that was hard to come by.

She knew Vilkas, her most frequent companion and shield brother, felt the same - being a fellow Nord and all. For the most part. There was one way in which their feelings differed. He did not share her affinity for Riften, or the Rift in general for that matter. Whenever circumstance brought them south east, he would grow tense, bright steely eyes constantly scanning their surroundings whilst grumbling about thieves. This was why he was always particularly off-put when she'd shrug and make camp for the night right by the roadside, her pack of valuables right beside her.

"The bears and spriggans are more of a threat than the Thieves Guild, brother, I promise you," she laughed gently when he commented on her apparent carelessness.

"Neither venture this close to the road...often."

"Exactly. So calm down."

"These thieves are ruthless, Thea," he grunted, sitting next to her as she continued building a fire.

'I'm glad,' she thought 'It's a key trait I look for when I recruit them.'

"They don't kill," she said instead "Not the ones who belong to the Guild, anyway."

"Aye, maybe not, but they're more than happy to take you off guard and steal all of your possessions, leaving you defenseless to whatever else may be lurking in the wild," he lectured, but despite her boredom concerning the topic, the bitterness in his tone piqued her interest.

"They robbed you," she tilted her head towards him, packing more dry leaves into the pile "Didn't they?"

"Aye."

"And they took something special."

"A dagger that once belonged to my father," he admitted, his tone softer now "It was a magnificent blade."

No wonder he was bitter. Vilkas usually relished a fight, always looking for new challenges. She briefly thought back to not long after they'd first met and his boasts of how he'd killed one of everything in Skyrim. If they hadn't angered him so, she knew he wouldn't care if a thief happened upon them, he'd simply fight. Though she sensed there was more to it than pure anger. Noting the frown on his features and the fact that he refused to look her in the eye, she realised. He was ashamed. Ashamed that he'd allowed the blade to be stolen? Probably. She wondered how long ago this had happened, and if he'd even told Farkas.

"What did it look like?"

"Why does it matter?" he huffed "It's long gone. Probably sold to support a Skooma habit."

"It matters," she spoke levelly, undeterred by the gruffness of his tone, long used to it from when she had been a whelp "Because my business takes me all over Skyrim and into the paths of all manner of people. I may come across it, and if I do I can bring it back to you."

He eyed her reluctantly.

"And if I do find it and don't know what it is, because you don't tell me what it looks like, odds are I'll just sell it on, and then it may be even more lost."

Vilkas sighed "It had a moonstone embedded in the hilt."

Frea grinned and looked away so he wouldn't catch wind of her delight. She was unable to believe her luck. Just last week Vex had been showing off a dagger that matched his, albeit vague, description. The blonde thief had gloated about how a thief unassociated with the Guild had attempted to rob her, but she'd turned the tables on him and robbed him instead. It had been a fantastic story - Brynjolf had almost fallen off of his chair with laughter, although that may have just been the mead.

Standing, Frea shot a fireball at the pile of leaves and twigs and smiled when the fire immediately roared to life.

"I'll be back after nightfall. Guard our things," she stated simply, ignoring Vilkas' indignant protestations and heading towards Riften.

The Ragged Flagon was quiet. With their new-found prosperity, jobs were easier to come by, keeping the Guild busy and consequently giving them less time to sit around and drink. Vex, however, wasn't out on a job.

"Vex!" Frea called once she was close enough for the blonde to hear her without having to shout.

"Welcome back, boss. Looking for work?" Vex asked boredly, counting through the septims on the table in front of her.

"Not this time," Frea shook her head "Remember the dagger you had? With the moonstone in the hilt? Do you still have it."

"Of course," Vex frowned suspiciously, looking up at Frea "Why?"

"I'll buy it from you."

"Ha! That's funny. I found this fair and square. Have Vanryth make you one if you like it so much," Vex snorted with a frown.

Frea sighed. She couldn't blame Vex - it really was unfair for her to ask for it, especially if she didn't want to part with it. However, it was more important to Vilkas than it would ever be to Vex, and if she couldn't tempt her with money, Frea knew a surefire way to have a chance at getting the dagger back.

"I'll fight you for it."

Vex visibly perked up at that, and so did Delvin, Vekel and Tonilia.

"Oh will you, now?" Vex smirked and tilted her head "This must be really important to you if you're willing to have your ass handed to you over it."

"No magic, no weapons, no dirty tricks," Frea sighed, unsheathing her sword and placing it on the table, her bow and quiver soon joining it "We have a deal."

"You're damn right we do."

She knew Vex would never back down from a challenge. Or a fight for that matter.

The brunette winced as she stumbled back towards where she'd left Vilkas. Vex sure knew what she was doing. She had seemed to know exactly where to go for, pinching the backs of Frea's thighs and upper arms, not even very hard, but the spots were sensitive enough for it to hurt. A lot. What she lacked in brute strength, she made up for in cunning...and what she lacked in cunning, she made up for in pure ferocity. Frea knew she must have looked a damn sight, scratches and bruises and all, but she supposed it was for the best. She'd let Vilkas believe she'd snuck into the thieves' den before having to fight her way back out again, effectively killing two birds with one stone.

When she did make it back to the campsite, her fellow companion was pacing, brow furrowed and right hand resting on his sheathed sword. He looked up the second she was within view, eyes widening as he took her in.

"You owe me," she breathed, adjusting her grip on the dagger so that she held the blade and the hilt was towards him.

His questions and gentle chiding went ignored for the night. His thanks, however, had her cheeks burning into the wee small hours.


	2. Purpose

**A/N: Frea may either be pronounced "Free-ah" or "Frey-ah" - all depends on your preference :) I also slipped a bit of a Tolkien reference in, purely because I could not resist. These one-shots are going to vary in length quite a bit - the one after this is around 1,000 words, it all depends on how inspired I am for each prompt. **

Frea often pondered over what her purpose in life might be. There were so many possibilities, after all. First it was Guildmaster, then Thane, then Harbinger and when the title "Dragonborn" finally came along, she believed that had to be it. What greater purpose could there be than to save Tamriel from the World Eater? That particular purpose was a literal part of her soul, and so that must be her true purpose, surely? However just as soon as she was convinced that she was right and that her other obligations were just mere pastimes, she would go onto consider how much she had helped achieve in those other obligations.

She'd helped an innocent Dunmer clear her name. She'd saved a man's soul. How could either of those things be considered just a "pastime"? There were nights, quiet nights when she was in Breezehome with nothing to do, where she'd think upon the topic of her purpose until her brows furrowed so much she was sure that by morning she'd have more wrinkles than Tilma.

But that was when Vilkas would appear and smooth the wrinkles from her forehead with soft kisses. He'd ease her troubles with nothing more than a few whispered words and the feeling of his arms enveloping her.

That was when Frea usually realised that no matter what her purpose may be, her _priority_ was Vilkas.


	3. Past

**A/N: I have a lot of these written in advance - I have around two or three more lined up already, if you'd like me to limit posting them to once a day, let me know, at the moment it's looking like it might be one at morning and one at night unless I stop writing as many.**

She'd known Vilkas since she was fifteen. That made it around ten years. She believed her humored her when she was a teenager more than anything. Her family had owned one of the many farms in the plains of Whiterun and would often travel to the hold every few weeks to sell their produce, buy whatever they may need. Whilst they did this, they would let Laeriel explore the city by herself, which usually involved sitting under the Gildergreen and staring up at Jorrvaskr, hoping to get a glimpse of the Companions.

Farkas and Vilkas had been older than her, in their early to mid twenties, and the women _flocked _to them. Not that women no longer did, but back then the twins would pay heed to the attention. Nowadays Vilkas had her and Farkas was often oblivious to the women's subtle flirtations unless they plopped themselves down in his lap.

Another way in which the past was different was that Frea had only had eyes for Farkas.

Frea bit her lip in anticipation as one of the huge doors leading into Jorrvasker slid open, revealing the twins. Quickly pretending to be engrossed in her book, she listened as they made their way down the steps, joking with and teasing each other. She felt a sharp streak of annoyance at herself when Farkas walked right past her, towards a voluptuous redhead who was beginning to make her way down to the marketplace.

"Hello, Frea."

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Vilkas spoke to her. She'd forgotten about him.

"Good afternoon, Vilkas," she murmured softly, avoiding eye contact with him in order to ignore the knowing look she knew would be on his face.

"Farkas was asking about you last week, you know."

It was a blatant lie, but a well meaning one. She knew Vilkas felt sorry for her, but that just made her feel worse. Pity wasn't what she wanted...but what could she expect? She was pitiable.

"You haven't been to the hold in a while, have you? Either that or we missed you."

He sat down beside her and she closed her book.

"Bandits freed the cows and stole a few. We had to find them all and rebuild the pen," she admitted quietly, still feeling woozy at the memory of their hoots of joy and shouted threats towards her mother "...They also destroyed some of the crops so we had to replant them. We've been too busy."

His face grew stern for a few moments and his grey eyes turned as steely as the sword at his hip, emphasized by the dark war paint smudged around them. A few moments of unsure silence passed between them before he spoke again.

"Clearly," he nudged her with his elbow "That's the same book you were reading last time."

She was in no mood for his attempts to make her laugh, which must have been a first. Vilkas usually always made her smile, and despite his usually stern demeanor she found him to be the least intimidating of the two brothers. Then again, he wasn't the one she had a crush on.

"Less produce to sell means no money for things as frivolous as books," she quoted her mother and shrugged "I don't mind. It's a good book."

"Why not call for the Companions?" his brow furrowed "You know we would ask for no payment from your family. That sort of thing is why we're here."

With a sigh, Frea tucked the book under her arm. She didn't want to get into this and was already regretting telling Vilkas the truth about why they hadn't been there, wishing she'd lied and told him she'd caught a chill instead. The bandit raids were all she'd heard about for the past few weeks, and to go through it all again now was too much.

"Why not let me join the Companions? Then we wouldn't need to call on you," the corners of her mouth quirked upwards.

"Ha. Maybe when you're older, little one...and a bit less scrawny," he jabbed at her ribs and she jumped.

"Hey, that's not-" she began, beginning to perk up...but then she realised she'd lost his attention and he was staring at an Imperial woman making her way by.

"That's great, Frea," he nodded at her non-existent statement, a look which she didn't understand in his eyes "I have to go and take care of some business...I'll find you before you leave, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure," she sighed and watched as he took off in hot pursuit of the unknown woman.

Later that day, Frea sat in The Bannered Mare, her book at her feet, waiting for her parents to finish their business and come and collect her. She was tired and more than ready to go home, already dreading the journey back in the biting wind. She glanced up when somebody sat next to her, heart lifting for a moment when she thought it was Farkas...but no. He was slighter and his hair was shorter.

"Hello Vilkas," she nodded at him and then frowned when he thrust a leather satchel towards her.

"I brought you a surprise," he said simply, as though it was the most normal thing in Tamriel.

"You...You what?" she blinked, opening the satchel to reveal three books, bound in high quality leather.

She took one out, dumbfounded, and leafed through it. The pages were thick and they stories inside had been illustrated in rich, bright hues of ink. Even though some pages were dog-eared and wrinkled - a sign that the books had been well loved - there was no doubting that they had been expensive.

"I can't accept this," she shook her head, trying to thrust the satchel back at him.

He held his hands up and shook his head "Keep them, little one. After all, I've read them many times so they have more to offer you than me."

"Vilkas, really, I can't!" she protested, immediately feeling guilty for being so cold with him earlier.

"You can and you will," was his response as he raised an eyebrow coldly at those who had turned to stare curiously at the young girl who dared to argue with one of the esteemed Companions.

With no idea what else to do, and no other way to disguise her tears of gratitude, Frea flung herself at Vilkas and wrapped her arms around his neck, thanking him profusely.

That was the last time they saw each other for seven years.


	4. Meaning

**A/N: Apologies for having to include the dialogue from the game here - I personally find it boring and annoying when I read it in stories, but I didn't know how else to go about certain parts of this.**

Frea lay in her cot in the room she shared with the rest of the new recruits. With a sigh she rolled over so she faced the wall instead of Athis' back. She didn't know why she hadn't expected Farkas and Vilkas to still be around. The Companions was the sort of organisation that warriors were in unless they died or were kicked out, and it had never occurred to her that either would happen to the twins. Perhaps they had just slipped her mind. Frea refused to feel bad about this - she'd clearly slipped theirs. Her mind wandered back to the previous few hours and she grimaced.

Something felt incredibly wrong about simply wandering into the living quarters of Jorrvaskr, even though she'd been told to go there in the first place by the fierce redhead she'd encountered when she'd first walked through the doors. When she was a teenager she'd always dreamed of exploring Jorrvaskr, but now she just felt cautious. When nobody immediately began to shout at her for being in the living quarters, she relaxed slightly - clearly there was no problem with her being there. The sickening sensation returned to her quickly, though, as soon as she heard the voice in the room she was making her way towards.

"...But I still hear the call of the blood," it was muffled, but that didn't stop her from recognizing it.

Before she could debate turning around and forgetting all about joining the companions, their conversation turned towards her.

"A stranger comes to our hall," spoke the man she assumed was Kodlak and she sighed, taking a few steps forward so that she was in the doorway.

Vilkas had fixed her with an annoyed, suspicious look. He had barely changed. His face had matured slightly and it looked like he had bulked up a tad underneath the armor, but that was it. When he continued to stare her down she quickly moved her attention onto the other.

"Are you Kodlak?" she asked "I would like to join the companions."

"Would you now? Here, let me have a look at you. Hm. Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit," he eyed her with a new found interest, but this only seemed to incense Vilkas "What's your name, girl?"

"Master, you're not truly considering accepting this outsider?" Vilkas cut in before she could even introduce herself "I've never even heard of her!"

She faltered. So he didn't remember her. It made sense. Why else would he be so cold towards her? She had first assumed that it was due to her disappearance right after he'd gifted her with those books - perhaps he thought her rude - but she never imagined Vilkas to be concerned with things like that. It appeared that Frea was right, too, as he seemed to have no trouble being outright rude to her. Frea couldn't blame him for not recognising her, either. She was a far cry from the lanky, moody teenager she'd been all those years ago. In her time away from Skyrim she'd gone from being flat as a board to having a figure that bordered on scandalous if she wore the right clothing - which was precisely why she avoided the "right" clothing - and the short, light hair she used to hide under a hat to avoid getting tangled in the wind had darkened whilst she allowed it to grow into a long, borderline untameable mass of waves that reached her mid back, even when braided as it was then.

"Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart," Kodlak scolded Vilkas as though he was a petulant child and then turned to Frea expectantly.

"My name is Valkyrie," she spoke before she even knew she'd made the decision to lie.

"And how are you in battle, Valkyrie?"

It was an effort not to falter at that question. Her skills were more suited towards thievery, and her time with the Guild had only honed that, but she was still decent with a sword, and even quite good when it came to dual-wielding daggers.

"I can handle myself."

"That may be so," Kodlak nodded before gesturing to Vilkas, who still looked incredibly unimpressed "This is Vilkas. He will test your arm."

Frea felt as though Kodlak had just informed her she'd be fighting three wild bears at once.

At the time she had been too shocked to ponder over it, but she began to wonder at the meaning of Vilkas' words - the ones he had spoken before he knew she was there.

"_But I still hear the call of the blood_."

What could that mean? Was he a vampire? No, that would be absurd. Call of the blood...Was he having troubles with Farkas? That would be even more absurd, but they were _blood_, after all. But why would he hear it _calling _him? Farkas was right there in Jorrvaskr - he'd led her to where she'd be sleeping, after all. Frea had found, with great relief, that any crush she'd had on Farkas was long gone. He was still attractive and kind, yes, but that was it. There wasn't that extra feeling that seemed to always be there when she was younger. She suspected that that _extra feeling _had simple been teenage hormones. Farkas hadn't recognised her either.

Frea simply didn't understand. Vilkas had always been blunt on most occasions, and never one to speak in riddles, so why now? With a huff, she closed her eyes, resolving to sleep and stop trying to make sense of words that clearly didn't concern her.


	5. Sun

**A/N: Thank you very very much for your kind reviews! It's extremely uplifting to know that people enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them! xo**

"Who knew Skyrim could be so damned hot?" Frea grunted, letting her armor fall to the ground with a sigh of relief "I can't handle this heat."

Outside it was sweltering, but there was no relief to be found inside either, where it was humid and suffocating.

"The woman with the soul of a dragon...defeated by the sun," Vilkas teased her, dropping his pack and beginning to unstrap his armor "It's good to be home."

"I'm going to see if I have any quests that would take me to Windhelm...or Winterhold. Even Dawnstar would do. I feel like I'm suffocating," she complained, shrugging off her thick padded undershirt, designed to protect her skin from the armor she wore "We could go to Hjerim for the summer."

"And watch Ulfric Stormcloak moon over you for months on end?" her husband snorted "Never."

"He only does it because he knows it bothers you," she laughed, reaching for the lightest piece of clothing she owned - a plain blue robe "That man gets antagonistic when he's bored...and he prefers blondes...and I prefer brunettes."

"Well it's not funny," Vilkas frowned, disgruntled.

"Perhaps not, but your reaction is," she eyed him not so subtly as he removed his undershirt "You act like a sabre cat with a thorn in it's paw."

"I remember you very much enjoying certain parts of my reaction," he smirked, grabbing her forearm and pulling her closer, his bare chest pressing hot against her back.

"_Noooo,_" she giggled as she struggled in his grip "It's far too warm for any of that! And that wasn't funny! You knew Ulfric would be able to hear us!"

"I wanted him to," he growled teasingly into her ear, nipping at her neck.

"So territorial," she tutted, trying her best not to let his actions affect her as she pulled out of his embrace and shrugged the robe on before grabbing her daggers "I'm going to go and bathe in the stream and try to cool off...You're more than welcome to join me."

"I don't want to _bathe_," he murmured suggestively.

"Fine then, stay here," she looked away to hide her cheeky grin "But without my big, strong husband to stand guard...All manner of people could easily spy on me."

Vilkas grabbed his sword and sighed "Fine. But we both know that not much bathing will happen."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Frea snickered and swept from the room, leaving Vilkas to chase after her eagerly.


	6. Sick

**A/N: Again, thank you so much for your kind words! I was worried that this story might be difficult to follow due to the fact that it's just non-chronological snippets, but I'm so pleased that you are enjoying it. I thought it might be worth mentioning that I was very much inspired by Emmy Rossum when it came to Frea's appearance.**

Frea felt awful. Sitting at the table in the mead hall, she rested her arm on the table and her forehead on her arm. She'd felt fine when she first woke up, but not long after attempting a few bites of bread for breakfast a feeling of terrible nausea hit her and her stomach lurched.

"Are you okay, love?"

Frea winced and glanced up, momentarily comforted by her husband's presence...until she was able to smell the ale in the cup her held. Shooting up, she scrambled away from the table and made for the doors that led to the training area. Throwing the doors open, she immediately fell to her hands and knees in the yard and began to throw up. She heard a faint curse and then Vilkas was at her side once again, gathering her hair away from her face.

"Are you okay?" Vilkas was always levelheaded in a crisis, but the concern in his voice was difficult to miss.

Once she'd finished she shook her head and struggled to stand up, vision spinning.

"I can't see," she breathed, blinking to try and get her vision back as the world started to go black.

"Frea!" was the last thing she heard before she felt a pair of arms wrap around her and then was aware of nothing more.

"Aela!" Vilkas roared as he carried Frea through the living quarters of Jorrvaskr.

"You don't have to shout, idiot. Some of us still have the beast bloo- What in Oblivion happened?"

"I don't know!" Vilkas could feel his panic rising "She just started throwing up and then fainted! I need you to help me get her out of her armor."

Aela followed him to the Harbinger's quarters and closed the doors behind them, knowing that in his current state, Vilkas wouldn't react well to somebody wandering in and seeing Frea unclothed. Vilkas gently laid Frea out on the bed, wincing at how pale she was.

"Vilkas, look..." Aela began unsurely, pulling off Frea's boots and refusing to look Vilkas in the eye.

Vilkas watched his shield sister, waiting for whatever she had to say and unsure why she looked so uncharacteristically embarrassed.

"Is it possible that she might be pregnant?" Aela sighed, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.


	7. Solitary

**A/N: Again, thank you so much for your kind reviews! I do very much intend to write a post continuing on from the last one and Vilkas' reaction to Aela's suggestion, but that all depends on when I come to a prompt that inspires that. All will be revealed about Frea's past and when the twins find out about who she really is, too - worry not, I wouldn't hold that back from you! Enjoy.**

"It's Valkyrie, right?" Farkas questioned as they left the city gates, setting off in the direction of Dustman's Cairn "Sorry, I'm not good with names."

Frea gave the twin a smile that she hoped didn't look too nervous.

"It's fine. We haven't spoken much," she left out the fact that this was because she'd avoided both brothers like the plague.

"So, uh, you nervous?" he was doing his best to establish some kind of camaraderie, Talos bless him.

"Should I be?" she shot him a small, joking smile.

It amused Frea that despite how intense she remembered her teenage crush on Farkas being, she really knew very little about the man walking at her side. If anything, she was more familiar with Vilkas' personality.

"Skjor said you've been training every day," he shrugged "So probably not."

They fell into a companionable silence, neither wanting to force more conversation and risk a potentially awkward atmosphere arising. They came upon their first wolf pack fifteen minutes into the journey. Almost automatically, Frea drew her daggers and went to work, throwing one into the skull of the first, kneeing the second in the jaw and bring her dagger down into it's head as it flew upwards before spinning to slit the throat of the third. She put one foot on the head of the first wolf as pulled her dagger from it's head.

"Good job," she jumped at Farkas' voice - so used to travelling alone that she'd forgotten altogether that he was there.

"I'm sure we'll be facing more than this in Dustman's Cairn," she gave a small smile "But thank you."

"Where are you from in Skyrim?" he asked as she wiped the blood from her daggers before sheathing them and they began to walk again.

"I was born just north of the Falkreath hold border," she spoke honestly, shaking her hands as the adrenaline still coursed through her "Into a farming family."

"You don't seem like a farmer's daughter. Usually anybody who comes to us from a farming family, well...isn't too good. Too naive. Think that if they can kill a skeever they can handle a bunch of bandits."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she gave a small laugh and then shook her head "That was a long time ago."

"You can't be that old," he snorted good naturedly.

"A year can be a long time, depending on what happens during it," she shrugged.

"And now you sound like Vilkas."

Frea gave a small laugh, quietly deciding that she preferred travelling with a shield-sibling than she did alone.


	8. Penance

**A/N: As usual, thank you very, very much for the lovely reviews!**

Vilkas sighed as he cast a glance over to Frea. She was pale, which only contrasted the dark circles under her eyes and her vacant stare. Every year she did this, without fail. Life would be put on hold and she'd retreat to her quarters – wherever they happened to be at the time – for around a week, only moving every so often to wince and bring a hand to the scar that he had memorized perfectly by now, no more than an inch long vertically on her left shoulder. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't sleep.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, love," he spoke softly, watching her carefully.

The first time he'd seen her do it, he'd assumed she was sulking. Perhaps she wasn't happy being a whelp. Maybe one of Nadja's stray comments had gotten to her. However, then it went on...and on...and on...and all of the Companions realised that this was something far more serious. Towards the end of the week she'd move every so often to grab some food...and then instead of finding her staring vacantly ahead in the nearest chair, they'd find her curled up on top of her bed, hugging her knees to her chest in a fitful sleep...and then she'd slowly return to normal.

This time, however, years later, he knew exactly what it was about, and it made his chest ache to see her in such a state.

"It wasn't your fault," he felt like he was speaking to a brick wall "They would have wanted you to get away."

It was because of this habit of Frea's that their shield-siblings had caught wind of their relationship in the first place – their suspicions had only been cemented a month later when Torvar had walked in on them both in a rather _compromising _position a few weeks later.

"How are we supposed to get anything done with a Harbinger who's catatonic?" Nadja had scoffed, taking the seat next to him "I don't know what her damn problem is.

Vilkas, however, _did _know what Frea's "damn problem" was, saw red and planted a punch right into Nadja's jaw. He winced at the memory. It had been unnecessary and he'd apologised by giving her two free hits to wherever she wanted a week later. Consequentially, his eyes were so blackened for a few weeks that his war paint became unnecessary. A few of the Companions – Farkas and Torvar, mainly – had assumed that he simply had a newfound extreme loyalty to Frea because of her status as Harbinger. The other knew better, and fixed him with knowing smirks whenever he got up to check on her.

"Gods be damned, Frea!" he exclaimed "You can't keep doing penance for crimes you did not commit!"

Just as he thought that he was making no progress at all, he noticed her right arm trembling and tears fill her eyes. He cursed softly and moved towards her, easily gathering her into his arms. He'd find a way to snap her out of this.


	9. Saint

**A/N: Your reviews genuinely delight me and give me faith in my writing abilities, so thank you very much! ****I'm not sure if I've said this in the past, but let me know if you'd like updates more or less frequently, because I can either post them as I write them or slow them down to one every day or two. It makes no difference to me, but I'd prefer to do what my readers prefer :)**

Frea couldn't believe what a phenomenal man Vilkas was. His whole attitude to their relationship seemed to revolve around simple acts of kindness. He was like a prince from a fairy-tale. Rubbing the cold from her limbs when she got back from a job, rebandaging her wounds, kissing her neck whilst she plaited her hair (although she'd often swear at him good naturedly whilst he did this as it always distracted her) and even something as small as getting her a cup of mead whenever he got one for himself. Frea felt truly blessed.

There was one thing that greatly surprised her about his attitude towards her, and it was how he was in public. She'd known many males – both man and mer – who would be exceedingly sweet to their wives in private, but in public would shy away from any kind of behaviour that might make them look "weak". Frea had expected Vilkas to be much the same – after all, he was a serious man and his reputation as a Companion was almost legendary in Whiterun. He defied all of her expectations.

No matter where they were – be it the Bannered Mare, Jorrvaskr, the market or a different hold altogether, if he wanted to hold her, he would. He'd flash her brilliant smiles and soft looks, he'd toy with the end of her braids between his fingertips, he'd compliment her. If she wanted to kiss him, he'd let her and Talos help anybody who commented on their very public displays of affection.

"If I died now..." she murmured against his bare chest, half asleep "I would die happy."

"A morbid statement for an early morning," Vilkas chuckled beneath her, drawing her closer against him "I would ask that you stay alive, though."

"I think I can manage that," she gave a breathy laugh


	10. Rules

**A/N: Another short one. I hope these are relatively easy to follow with the lack of a logical timeline!**

The Companions generally disapproved of any tactics that weren't brute force. For Frea, that meant having to resist the urge to keep to the shadows and quietly dispatch any enemies in sight. It meant running into battle, sword drawn and a battle cry in her throat. She hated it.

"Valkyrie!" Vilkas snapped as she pulled a dirty trick on him whilst they trained together "We don't resort to dirty tactics! Our skill makes it unnecessary."

"Well perhaps yours does, but my skills are more attuned to sneaking!"

"Which is why I didn't think Kodlak should let you join!" he snarled back at her.

Frea saw red and drew her sword. She'd show him skill.


	11. Special

**A/N: Another quick question. Eventually I will run out of ideas for this pairing considering I have easily over a thousand prompts. I doubt I'll run out of ideas for these two any time soon - I am very much just getting started, but for future reference are there any other pairings that you would like to see this kind of story on? I do only write Character/OC stories or F!DB/NPC stories, though :) I also have this kind of story but for a Marvel, Loki/OC pairing on my page if anybody is interested. Enjoy.**

Vilkas eyed the newest whelp – Valkyrie – as she spoke animatedly with Aela, making grand hand gestures and laughing. There was something about her...something he couldn't quite place. Something that made her special. Perhaps it was the fact that she was the Dragonborn. He scoffed at that. It had taken her weeks to be able to win a fair fight between them. She'd always resorted to cheap tricks or the occasional bit of magic. How could somebody like that be the Dragonborn? The one destined to slay Alduin. He'd believe that when he saw it. Pretty, yes, to the point of being tempting – especially when he'd had a few mugs of ale, but she was nothing special.

Vilkas watched with a smile on his face from the steps leading up to Jorrvaskr as Frea played tag with the local children. She was dressed in everyday garb – a plain blue dress and a thin pair of boots – and her hair was unbound, flying about her face as she twisted and turned as she pretended to sprint as fast as she could away from a little girl.

Even like this she was beautiful. Breathtakingly so. She gave a fake indignant shout as the girl tagged her and spun on heel, taking off after them towards the market...but not before looking up at him and shooting him a wide, brilliant grin that made him want nothing more than to seize her and pull her towards their living quarters and not let her leave until the next morning. With a disgruntled sigh he let go of that notion for the moment, content to simply watch her play with the children and wonder what it might be like if they had one of their own.


	12. Exhaustion

**A/N: A Brynjolf/OC story is something I'd love to do! Definitely happening in the future. I adore that man, ahah. Enjoy. **

Frea felt as though her legs would crumple under her at any given moment as she stumbled down the last of the seven thousand steps, clinging to the side of the mountain as she moved just to stay upright.

Alduin was gone. Dead. Defeated. She'd won...Only she didn't know if she'd survive long enough to truly enjoy the victory. She'd ignored the Greybeard's protests that she should stay with them until her strength had recovered, the idea of staying in the grim castle any longer than necessary repulsing her. Many found it a peaceful place. She didn't. Her horse was where she'd left it at the foot of the mountain and she sighed in relief, using the last of her strength to pull herself up onto it's back and then all she could do was cling to its mane and hope it knew the way to Whiterun as she lost the battle to stay conscious.

When she next awoke she was being shaken. Her eyes snapped open, her hand moving to her dagger, still on edge from the fight with Alduin. Skulvar Sable-Hilt and his family were gathered around her, gawking. Her hand moved away from her weapon and she regarded him tiredly.

"Falling asleep on your horse isn't a good idea, girl," he scolded unsurely "What if you'd come upon wolves or bandits?"

"I didn't," she wheezed simply, falling from the horse and staggering toward the city gates.

The journey up to Jorrvaskr felt longer than the journey back down the seven thousand steps. She gave a longing look towards Breezehome as she stumbled past it, hand clinging to her ribs. No. She'd gotten this far to return to Vilkas, she wouldn't give up now. With no idea if she'd even wake up if she fell asleep again, she didn't want to risk it. If she was to die, she wanted to see him beforehand. She wanted to keep her promise.

Mentally cursing the stairs in Whiterun, and Jorrvaskr for being up a majority of them, she could have cried at the sheer intensity of the ache in her legs – she might have been, she wasn't lucid enough to know if the blur in her vision was due to tears or not. She blinked the blurriness away as a figure at the top of the steps came into sight. Vilkas? No, too bulky to be Vilkas. The hair was too long. Farkas.

"Frea? You're back! That's great! Vilkas has been..." he fell silent as she struggled with the last few steps and he seemed to realise the state she was in "Frea?!"

He leapt forward and grabbed her. Frea sighed in relief, not caring about the pain that hit her because of the pressure of his grip, even though he was trying to be gentle. He lifted her up and began to bring her inside Jorrvaskr, roaring Vilkas' name as he went. Frea didn't think she'd ever heard him raise his voice before.

"What is it, brother?" came Vilkas' disgruntled voice as she heard the doors to the living quarters creak open.

More relief washed over her as she felt Farkas carry her towards the steps leading down.

"Oh Gods, no," the horror was so sharp in Vilkas' voice that it made Frea herself worry.

She hadn't seen the damage. Yes, she felt it, but truly she didn't know what was wrong with her and to what extent.

"She's not dead," Farkas reassured him "She's just weak. Exhausted. Barely made it up the steps."

She stared up at Vilkas deliriously and felt a smile tug on the corners of her lips.

"I told you," she rasped "I won. I came back."

All of them pretended not to notice the tears on Vilkas' face.


	13. Choice

**A/N: Apologies over the lack of updates for the past couple of days – I've had a few health issues and unfortunately that takes priority. As always, your reviews put a smile on my face, so thank you! Enjoy.**

Frea could've cried with relief when she found the sleeping quarters empty. She didn't think she could face another taunt from Nadja or a question from the ever curious Ria. It was hard enough remembering to respond to her new name – half of the companions probably thought her deaf from the amount of times she'd failed to answer to "Valkyrie".

She sighed and practically fell into her cot. She was struggling to find excuses to slip away and deal with Guild business, too, which added more pressure. Perhaps it would've been easier if she hadn't made the decision to lie. It was a struggle even justifying it to herself any more. What was she supposed to say? 'Hello Vilkas, fantastic to see you again, please stop glaring at me now'. She'd been intimidated, and she knew telling the truth would lead to a lot of questions she didn't want to face.

She'd made her choice, now she had to deal with the consequences.


	14. Passion

**A/N: I have mock exams from 9-13****th**** February, so updates may be slow for the next few weeks because I'm trying to focus on getting grades to get into university so I can turn writing into a living! I will try and keep up with them, though.**

Nights in Jorrvaskr after long quests were always wild. They'd break out the strong ale – usually that which had been given as gifts from grateful citizens – drag a bard in, or sometimes even try their own hands at the lute or singing, putting each other's ears at risk, and simply have _fun_. There was, however, an entirely different reason that Vilkas enjoyed such nights. On such nights, Frea usually ended up dancing.

Vilkas didn't think there was a time when he didn't find his wife incredibly attractive, but when she danced? Gods. He didn't know how he controlled himself, or the beast for that matter. It hadn't been as bad when she'd simply worn her old plain robes. They left more to the imagination, skimming the outline of her figure as she moved. Vilkas could distract himself if need be. Then Aela had stepped in.

"How can you wear armor like that?" Frea winced at Aela's slightly revealing apparel "The wind must bite your skin, fellow Nord or not."

"How can you wear armor like _that_?" Aela retorted good-naturedly, gesturing to the black, tight fitting armor that Frea favoured so much, which covered her from the neckdown – and completely when she wore the hood and mask "You need to let your skin _breathe_, sister. If not during a quest, at least after."

After their conversation, on nights such as this, Frea would often disappear to their chambers for a few moments and then return dressed in the clothing which the barmaids favoured so, and Vilkas' jaw would drop. A growl had even risen in his throat when he caught Torvar staring for a few moments too long at the ample amount of chest that had been exposed.

He gave a quiet laugh to himself and sat back in his chair, watching as Frea paused to take a gulp of ale before rejoining Aela, Nadja and Ria in their dancing. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. The way her cheeks flushed as she spun, the way her hair fell about her face as she threw her head back and laughed, the way the hem of her dress hiked up her thighs dangerously when she raised her arms. Vilkas found himself having to disguise a growl with a cough before taking a sip of his own ale – surely she couldn't know the effect she was having on him, could she? It was then that he caught the teasing spark in her eye when she glanced back at him over her shoulder and the strap of her dress accidentally slipped down her shoulder. She fixed it, smirked at him and then continued to dance...Well, only for a few moments. Before she knew it, Vilkas was out of his seat and then she was slung over his shoulder and being carried towards the sleeping quarters.


	15. Intense

Frea bit her lip. Tomorrow would be the day. This time tomorrow night she, Farkas and Vilkas would be free of the beast blood. So why was she so worried? A night of good sleep, days of no longer battling her subconscious...It sounded perfect. Still, she worried.

"What's wrong, love?" Vilkas murmured into her hair.

She turned her head so that she could see him, heart warming at the amount of love in his gaze, so clear even in the dim light.

"Will thing be the same?" she whispered softly "Once we're cured."

"Of course not," she felt the chuckle reverberate in his chest "That's why we're doing it. To finally have our minds to ourselves...I can't wait."

"Not like that," she shook her head and sat up, pulling the fur covers with her to cover her chest as she did so.

Vilkas mimicked her actions, angling himself so he could face her. His face looked so much open and even somewhat innocent without the war paint...but she supposed that just meant the paint was doing its job.

"Everything between us..." she began, avoiding his gaze as her cheeks burnt with embarrassment "It's so intense. It always has been. I love it, but...do you not...do you ever wonder if it's because of the beast blood? Our beasts...they're mated, so what if a lot of that animosity and intensity between us – and not just when we're making love – is because of that?"

Her voice had risen in pitch as she talked and when she was done she was trembling, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"I'm just...I'm so _scared _that we're going to lose this. That I'll lose you," she admitted quietly, running a hand through her hair, just to give her hands something to do.

Vilkas was silent for a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours. Then he sighed softly and pulled her close so that she was practically in his lap. Gently, he took her left hand and placed it on his chest where she could feel his heartbeat.

"It beats for you," he spoke simply before placing his hand at her breast "and I know yours beats for me. You think everything between us is down to some thrice damned curse? You're an intelligent woman, Frea. You know this isn't the case...and if not, well, I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."


	16. Soft

Frea didn't understand herself at times. She was Dragonborn, Guildmaster and Harbinger of the Companions...and yet at times she had self esteem problems. With a sigh she prodded her hips. Nord women were sturdily built, yes, but she couldn't help but the fact that many were far more slender than she was. Her lifestyle in general prevented her from being plump, but her build had gone from lanky to voluptuous when she went through puberty, with thin spindly limbs being replaced by thicker, curvy thighs and hips and her chest going from being flat to anything but. She skimmed her fingers over the soft flesh of her abdomen. The business she dealt with lately was mostly the boring stuff – financial and housekeeping for both the Guild and Jorrvaskr. Yes, she'd still been training, but since she hadn't been traversing Skyrim, she swore she'd gained a bit of weight.

The door to her quarters swung open and she jumped slightly before sighing in relief. It was Vilkas.

"Back already?" she questioned, reaching for a simple brown robe and pulling it around herself.

"Wild sabre cats couldn't keep me away," he teased, placing his sword on the weapon rack.

"And apparently they didn't," she retorted, shooting him a grin.

"It was a snowy one. I brought you back the pelt," he grinned at her.

"You're too kind to me, husband," she laughed gently, moving to help him remove his armor.

"I can think of a way you can repay me," he gave a teasing growl and pulled her close, hands going to the tie of her robe.

"Noooo, Vilkas, don't," she laughed softly as his hands immediately began to roam the flesh of her hips "They're so awful."

He did stop and stared at her, aghast.

"Now surely you're joking," he snorted, slipping the robe from her shoulders "There's nothing awful about you, my love."

"Really, husband, I don't know how you can face this every day," she wrinkled her nose with a sigh.

"Don't be ridiculous!" he retorted with a bark of a laugh, dropping to his knees to kiss and nip at her hips "They're my favourite part of you. Soft. Warm. Attractive...and one day they'll bear our many, many children."

"Many, hmm?" she felt her cheeks heat up "Well I suppose we had better get to work."


	17. Unforgiving

"It feels so wrong, moving my things to Kodlak's quarters," she sighed, placing her pack down on the bed "Like I'm intruding."

"You're our harbinger now, Valkyrie," Vilkas spoke softly "Many stayed here before Kodlak...and many will after you. This is your place."

He'd offered to help her move into her new quarters – as a gesture of good will after all of the bad blood between them. Frea found herself grateful for this. It made her feel less guilty for replacing Kodlak's belongings with hers, even though she knew the man would not have grudged her this.

"Shall I put your books on the shelves?" Vilkas asked, ever the gentleman and conscious that there were certain things she may not wish him to handle – books must have been a safe bet.

"Please," she nodded, giving him a small smile as she removed some of her more casual clothing from her pack and began to fold them.

They worked in silence for a few moments before Vilkas spoke again, his tone totally changed.

"Where in Oblivion did you get these?" his voice was low.

Frea turned to face him, brow furrowed...and then she froze. She'd forgotten about those. In Vilkas' hands were the books he'd given her all those years ago. The last time they'd seen each other before she'd been forced to leave.

"You can find them with any merchant," she gave a small laugh, hoping the nervousness in it wasn't too evident.

"No, not these ones," Vilkas shook his head and dropped one onto the bed, opening the cover of the other to gesture to where his name was written at the top left hand corner, neatly in black ink "Now tell me, Valkyrie. Where. Did. You. Get. This?"

His gaze was almost murderous as he stared at her. It was over. Frea knew it.

"You gave it to me, Vilkas."

"No. _No_. The girl I gave this to died years ago," he hissed.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, she did! I went to her damned farm! It was burnt down! There were human remains!"

"My parents," she admitted weakly "I got away. They didn't."

"Oh?" he snorted "If that was true, she would have come to Whiterun."

"And be more of a burden than I already was? Be shipped off to Honorhall?" she snorted "No."

"You could have come to me!" Vilkas roared, and his tone was the only thing preventing her relief at his apparent acceptance that it truly was her "Joined the Companions!"

"You said it time and time again," she sighed "I wasn't suited for the Companions."

"I said it again when you came back and now you're Harbinger!"

"Yes. But before that I roamed Tamriel. I begged, I killed, I lied, I thieved, I fought, I _survived_. It prepared me. Shaped me into who I am now. Had I not, I wouldn't be here now. I wouldn't be able to live up to the name of Dragonborn. I'd probably be dead."

"Who you are now? You are a _liar_!" he seethed "You don't deserve the title of Harbinger!"

"Yes," she nodded "I lied. About my name only. Kodlak knew it. It's in his journal. He suspected all along that I wasn't who I said I was. I performed every single deed that made the circle and Kodlak think me a worthy Harbinger. The fact that I was under an alias whilst I performed them is irrelevant."

"There is no honour in lying! No glory!"

He was grasping at straws and they both knew it, but Frea's guilt was beginning to set in. It was his home before it was hers. If he truly wanted her to leave, she would. After all, if he had reacted to adversely to the truth, the rest of the Circle probably would too. She'd no longer be welcome.

"Fine," she sighed "I'll go. I'm sorry."

She ignored his surprised stare as she unsheathed her Skyforge steel daggers and dropped them to the ground. Grabbing the pack she brought on all of her quests, she made for the door, jumping as she opened it only to walk into a solid figure.

Farkas stared down at her, dumbstruck.

"Farkas," she murmured, not doubting for a second that he'd heard.

"...Frea," he spoke unsurely.

"I'll be in Riften should you ever have need of me."

With that she was gone.


	18. Gift

Frea moved carefully amongst the debris of her old home, refusing to look at the charred skeletons that lay, now half covered in moss, on the doorstep. She didn't go there to mourn, and she knew that if she lingered she would never leave and grief would take her. Moving with purpose, she ducked under fallen beams and to the structure that was once her bedroom. Nothing remained but floorboards and the rocky foundations of the walls. It was the floorboards she was interested in.

As a teenager, knowing that if her parents discovered her books they would make her return them to Vilkas immediately, she'd hidden them beneath a loose floorboard in her room in a leather satchel. Drawing her dagger, she jammed it in between two floorboards and then wrenched them apart, smiling humourlessly when they gave way almost immediately to reveal a leather satchel that had definitely seen better days.

Carefully removing it, she opened the flap and then gave a genuine smile. There sat two books, untouched for years and the last gift she'd ever been given before she'd returned to Skyrim and joined the Thieves' Guild.


	19. Memory

**A/N: If any of you have any prompts you'd like me to fill for this story, feel free to let me know in a review!**

Frea was a far cry from the slip of a girl who'd frequented Whiterun all those years ago. She no longer favoured Farkas, which pleased Vilkas seeing as he thought that to be an essential quality in his wife.

She'd changed drastically. Physically, yes, but she would have developed in the same way had she stayed in Skyrim or not. What fascinated Vilkas was how much she'd changed in character. Carrying an air of self reliance and confidence wherever she went, she was a truly intimidating woman. Every time anybody made eye contact with her, she almost turned it into a game – the winner would look away last and she almost always won. Years ago she spent most of her time shrinking into herself and wouldn't make eye contact if her life depended on it. That had largely been why he'd always gently pushed her back whenever she asked to join the companions, not due to her stature as she'd clearly believed, but due to her attitude. A Companion without confidence to the point of arrogance would never survive.

No, confidence was not a thing his wife lacked now. It shone in every cheeky grin she shot at him. In every sway of her hips and in the defiant look in her eyes when she drew her weapon. The extent to which she had changed often had Vilkas questioning the accuracy of his memories of her in the old days.


	20. Grey

Frea scowled at grey wall of snow that made leaving the cave she and Vilkas had situated themselves in impossible for the foreseeable future.

"I miss Cyrodiil," she grumbled, sliding down to the ground and bringing her knees to her chest.

"Not a very Stormcloak thing to say," Vilkas commented, surveying the snow storm that raged outside.

She simply huffed and rested her forehead on her knees. Things between she and Vilkas had improved. They were on speaking terms now, after all...but that didn't mean she didn't find being stuck in a cave with him incredibly awkward.

"You need to undress."

Her head shot up at his words "Excuse me?"

Frea didn't think she'd ever seen Vilkas blush before, but the sight had her stifling giggles.

"Your armour is soaking. You need to change and let it dry by the fire. You do have a change of clothes?" he raised an eyebrow, cheeks pink.

"I doubt it," Frea's mood soured even more "I didn't think we'd be gone long enough to have to change."

It was true – the bandit hideout they'd been told about couldn't have been more than two or three miles from Windpeak Inn, but a third of the way into their journey back, the snowstorm had hit and Vilkas had insisted they seek refuge before they lost all sight, and so they had trampled around in the snow, awkwardly grasping each other's arms so as not to stray from each other, until they happened upon the, luckily abandoned, cave.

Moving to kneel in front of her pack, Frea began to pull everything out of it in hope that she'd left a stray tunic in it at some point. After reaching the bottom of her pack - pulling out poisons she'd forgotten she had, a few ebony ingots that she'd meant to sell months ago, an elvish dagger and a broken lockpick, she gave up hope. It was either sit and soak in the cave for Talos knew how long, or sit in her small clothes in front of Vilkas for Talos knew how long.

"Here," Vilkas grunted, thrusting a bundle of fabric her way "A tunic. It's ripped, I thought it might come in handy for bandaging wounds, but it's better than nothing."

The rest of the evening passed quietly, with Vilkas trying not to notice just how exposed Frea's thighs were in the clothing he'd given her, and Frea trying not to notice the tension between them.

A week later, after returning to Jorrvaskr, Vilkas found the tunic on his bed – fully mended, along with a bundle of bandages.


	21. Regression

**A/N: A darker one. I've been looking forward to writing this.**

Frea knocked gently on Vilkas' door, biting her lip nervously. She hated the idea that he was staying in the living quarters whilst the rest of them ate, drank and laughed together, purely because of her presence. He had made it clear that whilst he had given in and allowed the others to fetch her back, he didn't have to like their decision.

"Come in."

He didn't sound angry. Then again, perhaps he didn't know it was her. She pushed the door open and walked into the room, closing it behind her. Vilkas sat on his bed, book in hand.

"What do you want?" he gave her a distrustful look.

"To explain," she admitted softly, avoiding much eye contact.

"Explain what?" he sighed, clearly growing impatient.

"What happened...when I was young."

She chanced a look at his face and saw some kind of softness flicker into his expression briefly.

"I've never told the story before, so I'm not sure how well I can tell it..." she continued nervously, eyes fixed on the floor as she wrung her hands together.

"You don't have to," he voice was gruff now, clearly unsure how to react.

"I know," she slowly sat down on the floor beside his bed, facing him.

It was a childish way to sit, with her legs crossed and her elbows on her knees, but it was a habit of hers when she was nervous – and sitting beside him on the bed would feel too intimate.

"You...Do you remember the last time we saw each other? On the day you gave me the books?"

Vilkas closed the book he had been reading and shifted so that he faced her now.

"Yes."

"I told you we'd had trouble with bandits."

"Stealing your cows, yes," he nodded slowly, recalling their conversation.

Frea sighed "I wasn't fully honest. It was not...It wasn't an isolated incident. Our farm was remote, ad so they were free to terrorise us...and they enjoyed it. They'd come in the middle of the night and bang on the doors. My father boarded up the window in my bedroom because of it. They'd destroy or steal any food we grew and slaughter and kill any animals. My mother started bringing the chickens inside at night."

Vilkas sneered but said nothing.

"After a while, my father grew sick of it. Whilst we left Whiterun on that day, he alerted a guard to what had been happening, and so they sent a guard with us back to the farm. The guard stayed for a week, and when nothing happened he assumed his presence had frightened them away and left to go back to Whiterun. He was right in part – his presence had made them keep their distance, but it had also angered them. How dare such lowly and pathetic farmers retaliate against them? Three nights passed after the guard left, and nothing. On the fourth night I woke up because my bedroom was full of smoke and I could not breathe," she drew her knees up to her chin and hugged them tightly to try and give herself some illusion of security "They'd set the farm on fire."

"Frea-"

"I opened my bedroom door to run out, just in time to see my mother run out of the door only to be grabbed and have her throat slit," her voice shook as she stared ahead, still able to clearly see the blood dripping down her mother's neck "My father had come to get me when he saw what happened...so he...so he..."

She closed her eyes, hating how her chest had tightened and the tears that she felt burning on her cheeks.

"They were celebrating outside, waiting for us to come out next. He told me that he would go out first and that whilst they were distracted with him, I should duck past them and run. Run away in any direction as fast as I could...and not to look back. Before I could do anything he was up and making his way towards the door. The second he was visible amidst the smoke, they grabbed him...and I ran," Frea hugged her arms around herself now "I can still feel their hands trying to grab me when they realised what had happened."

"Frea, you don't-"

"I ran south until I reached the outskirts of the forest," she spoke over him "...and then I turned around...hoping that my father had managed to get away too."

"He didn't."

It was the first time Vilkas had spoken without trying to stop her.

"No," she breathed "No, I turned around in time to see an orc bring his warhammer down on his head."

Her voice cracked and she paused, unwrapping her arms from around herself to bring her hands to her face.

"And so I ran again. They shot a few arrows after me – only one hit," she gestured vaguely to her left shoulder "...and I kept running until I reached the border of Cyrodiil. I didn't even know I was in Cyrodiil until a Bruma city guard found me the next day, half dead."

She said nothing for a few moments, trying to come to terms with having told the story in full for the first time. Vilkas moved silently, standing up from his bed before sitting back down again – this time beside her on the floor – and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder. It was only then that she began to sob.


	22. Yellow

Frea worried for her husband. He was struggling to fight the beast blood more and more. She saw it every time blood was spilt in the training yard. Every time he looked at her. His eyes would change from the icy shade she had grown to love and be comforted by to a feral yellow, dangerous and unpredictable.

Frea struggled with it herself at times, but when thinking of how long Vilkas had endured the blood, it broke her heart to realise how much he must struggle with it on a daily basis. Drawing her horse to a halt outside of Glenmoril Coven, a sadistic smirk worked its way onto her lips.

There were three witches left inside. One for Vilkas, one for Farkas, and one for her. Perfect.


	23. Laughter

"For a boy?" Vilkas murmured, rubbing a hand over Frea's still flat abdomen.

"We don't even know for certain yet," she scolded.

"Humour me."

"Ulfric," Frea stated simply, putting all of her willpower into maintaining a straight face.

"What?" Vilkas frowned.

"For a boy. Or Brynjolf, perhaps," she faked a yawn before rolling over, away from Vilkas so she could crack a smile.

"And why in Oblivion would we name our son after either of them?" Vilkas growled.

"I like the tradition of naming a son after his father," Frea couldn't keep a straight face any longer and burst into fits of laughter, feeling only slightly guilty for teasing Vilkas so.

"You're not funny," Vilkas sighed, gently pulling her closer "And you're lucky I'm not a jealous man."

Frea grinned. There was a time when Vilkas wouldn't speak to her for a week if she'd made such a joke.

"You were worried that Brynjolf giving me my share of the Guild profits was his way of trying to woo me!" she giggled, rolling back over to look at him mock-accusingly.

"I was young and foolish!" Vilkas protested.

"_That was last week_!"

They studied each other carefully for a few moments before both bursting into fits of laughter, eventually becoming unsure of what they'd even begun laughing at in the first place.


	24. Blue

"Did you see the way he kept looking at you?" Vilkas sneered, taking a seat beside Frea on one of the balconies of the Blue Palace.

Frea had made the mistake of deciding to go on a "romantic getaway" with Vilkas to Solitude. Well, the mistake was really the fact that Ulfric happened to be in the city at the same time.

"Vilkas," Frea laughed gently "Please shut up."

"But-," her husband began incredulously.

"Ulfric is about as attracted to me as you are to Aela," she rolled her eyes and then looked at him, quirking an eyebrow "Or should I be worried about you two?"

Vilkas wrinkled his nose before sighing and leaning back.

"You shouldn't be worried about me and anybody."

"Exactly. Nor should you. Now be quiet. You're ruining it."

"Ruining what?" he frowned, following her gaze out onto the horizon.

She gestured in front of them before leaning forward to lean her elbows on the balcony ledge "The sea. It's beautiful."

"I didn't know you liked it," Vilkas' voice was quieter now and distinctly less annoyed.

"I love it," she sighed, contented "We're just rarely near it...and it doesn't look anywhere near as beautiful anywhere else in Skyrim. It's the same brilliant blue as the water always seemed to be in Cyrodiil...not like the murky lakes in Riften...I suppose on a nice day, Lake Geir might compare, but it's nothing close to this."

"You miss Cyrodiil?"

"Sometimes. It wasn't home...but it shaped me."

"Well then we'll have to come here more often."


	25. Pain

**A/N: Sequel to "Exhaustion".**

"Remember when..." Frea rasped, every word a struggle "Every time I got hurt...on a quest...and we'd all reassure ourselves...that I'd be fine because...the Dragonborn couldn't...couldn't...not before Alduin was defeated...and now...Alduin is defeated."

"Frea," Vilkas breathed, his voice ragged "Frea don't say that."

"I don't know...If I'm getting through this one," she admitted softly "It hurts...so much."

"Remember what Danica said," Vilkas urged, taking her hand "If you make it through the night, you will live."

"I don't know if I can," Frea tried to hold back sobs, knowing it would just make the pain worse.

"You _have _to," Vilkas choked out, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips "Frea _please_. You can't die."

It was the first time either of them had said the word and the air in the room seemed to grow even heavier. Frea squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pull herself together. She'd never experienced so much pain. Every breath felt like fire – like her insides were burning. Every movement agonizing. Her limbs felt like lead, heavy and aching. She wasn't ready to return to Sovngarde so soon – she knew that in her heart – but she didn't know if she'd be able to help it. Clinging to consciousness was growing more and more difficult and her grasp on life felt like it would soon begin to slip, too.

"We're going to grow old together, my love," Vilkas went on "We're going to have so many more adventures, and eventually a child...or a herd of them."

The latter part was a joke to lighten the mood, but she heard the strain in her husband's voice.

"We'll go...We'll go to Cyrodiil, and you can show me all of your favourite places there," he continued and she felt tears hit her hand, which only encouraged her own "and then we'll go somewhere new. Somewhere neither of us have been...and we'll find new favourite places there, _together_. Yes, Alduin is dead, but you can't be. _You can't_."

They fell quiet then, both in tears, and Frea tightened her grip on his hand as much as she could, knowing that it was still probably a weak grip, as though Vilkas could anchor her to the living world. She hoped he could.


	26. Debt

"Riften," Frea signed contentedly as the city gates closed behind them.

"Ah yes, thieves and stagnant lake water," Vilkas wrinkled his nose.

"Hey!" Frea protested "...Those thieves have _names_."

Even after learning of, and eventually accepting, Frea's role of Guildmaster to the Thieves Guild, Vilkas still failed to understand Frea's affinity for Riften.

"Frea! Lass!"

Frea looked away from Vilkas to see Brynjolf striding over, a grin on his face.

"I was worried you'd ended up on the wrong end of a sword," he frowned, pulling her into a bear hug.

"You? Worried? Well I'm flattered," she laughed, hugging him back before taking a step away "This is Vilkas, my husband."

"I don't know whether to offer you my congratulations or commiserations, lad," Brynjolf joked, offering Vilkas a hand to shake.

Vilkas' eyes flashed in a way that told Frea he didn't appreciate Brynjolf's nickname, and she refrained from rolling her eyes. She adored him, but he needed to lighten up at times.

"Come, let's go to the Flagon and celebrate," Brynjolf gestured for them to follow him "First round's on me."

"And the one after that's on Delvin," Frea quipped with a smirk.

"I didn't know you still did jobs for the Guild," Vilkas frowned as they began to settle down in Honeyside after a long evening of drinking and banter at the Ragged Flagon.

"_Frea, lass, I've got a job for you – before I forget," Brynjolf had taken a seat at the table where she, Vilkas and Thrynn sat "Something I think you'll be interested in."_

Vilkas had looked disgruntled enough at that, nevermind when Laeriel had nodded and gotten up to speak to Brynjolf about the job in private.

"I don't tend to," Frea admitted, yawning "But if Brynjolf comes across something particularly suited to me, I'll do it. I don't have much to do with the petty thievery these days, though."

"Why have anything to do with any of it at all?" Vilkas sighed, pausing his process of removing his armor to stare at her frankly "You're the Dragonborn. You're better than that."

"I'm not better than anybody."

"What about Thrynn? He used to be a bandit, he made that much clear. Have you ever considered that he might have been involved with-"

"Vilkas," Frea snapped "Don't."

"It's a valid point!" Vilkas pushed.

"No. It's not. It's actually the least valid point I've ever heard you make," Frea knew her response was childish in part, but she continued "He used to be a bandit. His leader asked him to kill women and children. He killed the leader instead. Happy?"

"I just don't see why it's necessary for you to-"

"Because I owe them. And I like them. They got me back on my feet when I came back to Skyrim, penniless thanks to the damned Legion," she didn't think she'd ever stop being bitter over the amount of gold the Imperials had taken from her when they imprisoned her "What kind of person would I be if I said 'Thanks for making you the Guildmaster in your guild – which is basically your entire life – Brynjolf, but it's just not benefiting me any more...and my betrothed is jealous.'"

"What?!" Vilkas spluttered "I am not _jealous_!"

"Yes you are!" Frea sighed, putting her hands on her hips "Talos knows I don't know why, but you are. You need to talk to me, because this isn't healthy, Vilkas. I refuse to spend the rest of my life with a man who can't handle me talking to an old friend – one who is practically a brother, I might add."

Vilkas deflated, paled and then sighed, burying his face in his hands.

"It's the beast," he admitted softly.

"Hmm?" Frea frowned, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

"I _know _that I have nothing to worry about. The only person I trust as much as I trust you is Farkas," he snorted "But whenever I see another man put a hand on you, the beast, it...it _growls _and it _rages _and there's nothing I can do except overreact and feel like a petty fool."

"Oh, Vilkas," she sighed, wrapping her arms around him and feeling guilt spread throughout her abdomen.

"I am sorry, my love," he sighed into her hair "Truly."

"I can think of a way or two you can make it up to me," she suggested softly, pressing her lips against his neck and the mood lightened instantly.

What he didn't know was that, as they fell back onto the bed, Frea was already planning out her trip to Glenmoril Coven.


End file.
